How Religion Falters
"Behold, happy is the man whom God corrects...."
— Eliphaz
When we suffer, we turn to religion. With good reason. Only religion can answer our questions:
Does God care?
Can I be healed?
If I die, will I live again?
Human philosophies provide no answer to these questions other than cynicism. When Walter Lippman, a champion of humanism, was asked to sum up his philosophy of life and death, he answered, "Just do the best you can, and if possible, face death with a smile."
Religion is more than facing death with a smile. It is the human way of communicating with God and interpreting His revelation. It is right that we turn to religion when we suffer. We need the comfort of knowing the Someone above and beyond us understands and cares. Of course, every religion requires an element of faith because the answers do not come easily. In fact, they may not come at all. Job had no answers to his suffering when he spoke through faith, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him" (Job 13:15).
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In such times, the crucial question is, "Does our religion give us the faith to handle suffering even when we do not have all the answers?"
Job's suffering tested the religion that he shared with his three friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. Even though they lived in a time of limited revelation, they had a personal and practical faith in God. It began with a natural revelation. In the beauty and order of the physical world, Job and his friends saw the hand of a personal God. At the same time, the awesome evidence of His power caused them to quake with fear. Bowing in His presence and before His power, they arose to sing psalms of praise unsurpassed in poetic beauty and spiritual insight:
But as for me, I would seek God,
And to God I would commit my cause—
Who does great things,
and unsearchable,
Marvelous things without number.
He gives rain on the earth,
And sends waters on the fields,
He sets on high those who are lowly,
And those who mourn are lifted to safety.
(Eliphaz — Job 5:8-11)
In this hymn which Eliphaz quoted for Job we see that he and his friends represent a religion involving far more than fear of the Almighty and submission to His power. Their God is honored for His justice and praised for His providence. Still more, through the searching of human reason, they have been inspired to an understanding of "wisdom" whose definition remains intact throughout the Scriptures. By worshiping God in fear and submitting their minds to His will, they believed they would gain a wisdom that permitted them "to see God whole" and understand His ways in the world. Their view of wisdom, however, was not just a lofty ideal without practical application. For them, wisdom also meant "to walk circumspectly" before God. This was the model of wisdom and righteousness that Job exemplified and God commended: ". . . a blameless and upright man, one who fears God and shuns evil?" (Job 1:8).
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We continue to be amazed at the high level of spiritual insight and practical righteousness that Job and his friends espoused without the advantage of God's special revelation through the Law and the Prophets or through the Incarnation of Jesus Christ. Never sell them short. Better yet, never sell short the Spirit of God. Hebrews reminds us that even before the revelation of Jesus Christ, God was working in "various times and in different ways" (Heb. 1:1) to reveal His will and His love to His human creation.
Religion, however, can be too perfect sometimes. In trying to become wise and live righteously, Job and his friends tried to answer every question and cover every contingency with a reasonable religious explanation. The more they explained, the less faith they needed. Therefore, they fell into the trap of reducing faith to a formula, raising the formula to a system, and finally substituting the system for faith itself. This is a vicious cycle that allows no room for growth in faith. When this happens, especially for people who suffer and ask "Why?", religion falters.
When Faith Is Reduced to a Formula
Believe it or not, religion can be detrimental to faith. If this happens, religion actually adds to the pain of people who suffer. Job's friends illustrate what we mean. In their zeal to understand God, they reduced faith to a formula. The result was a religion that took the mystery out of life, answered the question "Why?" for all circumstances, and eliminated the need for a faith that is ". . . the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" (Heb. 11:1). With the surety of physical law, they developed the spiritual equation:
Sin equals suffering;
Righteousness equals prosperity.
Each premise is true. Whether in the Old or New Testament, the lesson is taught that the "wages of sin is death." Likewise, we cannot deny the truth that "Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people" (Proverbs 14:34). But what happens when you meet a person like Job?
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He suffers even though he is righteous. Suddenly, the formula is tested and fails. Justice, of course, makes no provision for such exceptions. Like ringing up a sale on a cash register, if you punch in sin, suffering is your change. Everything in the world of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar worked like that. No exceptions were allowed. Faith went with the formula and God's character went with the faith. Job is caught in the middle, a righteous man who is suffering, crying "Why?", and needing a faith that gives him hope. Indeed, he is condemned as a sinner because his circumstances do not fit the formula. Crossing the lines of the equation, he is a contradiction because he is a righteous man who suffers.
Faith is still being reduced to formulas. If we are honest we will confess that when we suffer, we not only ask "Why?" but also, "What have I done wrong?" In our minds we link sin and suffering. Likewise, in our affluent society, we want to link our riches with our righteousness. How else can we account for the popularity of the preaching that promises prosperity and success for those who obey God? In its extreme form, there is even a preacher who boldly proclaims the idea that "the lack of money is the root of all evil." Most Christians would categorically reject such a perversion of the Scripture, but not necessarily the formula behind it. Winston Churchill once said that the only thing wrong with Christianity is the lack of suffering. In his own way, he was right. We do not know how to handle either success or suffering.
New Christians are particularly susceptible to the righteousness/prosperity side of the Wisdom School formula. Naturally ecstatic with their new-found freedom in Christ, they believe that nothing can go wrong. While discussing a tragic death in a Christian family, a young mother who had been marvelously converted offered this testimony, "I have no fear for our family. We have claimed the promise of the blood on the doorpost. Nothing can happen to our children." How would she handle the suffering of Job?
In another instance of faith reduced to a formula in the mind of a new Christian, I chanced to sit next to a young woman on an airplane who was reading C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia. Curiously, I asked her if she had read many of his works. "Some," she answered. "I'm a new Christian and I'm just becoming acquainted with him." She
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went on to explain how Christ had changed her life and given her success after success in the music business as a vocalist in Broadway-type musicals. Together, then, we talked about our mutual faith and C.S. Lewis's insightful writing. When she inquired about other of his works to help her growth in faith, I recommended his primer Mere Christianity, his autobiography Surprised by Joy, and his Jobian struggle through suffering after the death of his wife, A Grief Observed.
As the plane landed, we agreed to continue our conversation by correspondence. Several months passed before I heard from her. The first page of her letter bubbled with the good news of God at work in her life. But the second page reflected her troubled spirit. She felt "disillusioned" after reading A Grief Observed because she could not accept Lewis's angry yell:
So this is what God is really like.
Deceive yourself no longer.
Nor could she reconcile her concept of God and faith with Lewis's conclusion:
She smiled, but not at me. Poi si torno all' eterna fontana.1
My young friend has yet to suffer. When she does, I have no doubt but that her desire to grow as a Christian will be honored by the Holy Spirit. Hers will be an expanding, maturing faith that understands the anguish and the ending of C.S. Lewis's experience. As of now, however, her Christianity is encapsulated in a formula of prosperity and success that makes no room for suffering.
When the Formula Is Raised to a System
Once faith is reduced to a formula, it is the formula, not the faith, that must be defended. How creative we now become. Every human invention is brought into play, especially human experience, tradition, and reason. In contemporary
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terms, we call it systematic theology — meaning that the revelation of God is organized, explained, and defended by scholarly work. As a leader of the Wisdom School, Job undoubtedly had a hand in developing the formula for faith and its supporting theological system. He respected the wisdom of human experience, tradition, and reason. Little did he know, however, that his own work would be used as a weapon against him when his friends tried to prove that his suffering resulted from some form of sin.
Eliphaz, the eldest and therefore presumed to be the wisest of Job's three friends, defended the formula of faith by invoking the authority of his age and the experience of a nighttime vision when God spoke personally to him:
Then a spirit passed before my face . . .
Then I heard a voice saying:
"Can a mortal be more righteous than God?
Can a man be more pure than His maker?
If He puts no trust in His servants,
If He charges His angels with error,
How much more those who dwell
in houses of clay?"
(Job 4:15-19)
Eliphaz puts Job in an impossible position. Who can dispute the wisdom of age? Who can refute the infallibility of a secret, supernatural vision? Although Eliphaz's tone is fatherly, he minces no words in diagnosing Job's suffering as the result of sin and prescribing repentance:
Behold, happy is the man whom God corrects;
Therefore, do not despise the chastening of the Almighty . . . .
Behold, this we have searched out;
It is true.
Hear it and know for yourself.
(Job 5:17 and 27)
In his turn, Bildad reinforces Eliphaz's position by citing the tradition of the fathers in defense of the formula. Job is again forced into an impossible situation because he has
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taught others that the accumulated understanding of the ages is essential to wisdom. Bildad's words must have stung Job deeply when he invoked tradition as his authority for defending the formula and condemning Job:
For inquire, please, of the former age,
And consider the things discovered by their fathers;
For we were born yesterday, and know nothing.
(Job 8:8-9)
Having established his authority in the wisdom of the ancients, Bildad spins three parables which must have been passed down from generation to generation as reinforcements for the formula — the papyrus reed that withers without water, the spider whose web collapses under his weight, and the gourd that rots because of shallow roots. Each parable has the same pointed moral: Job is suffering because of secret sin in his life.
Zophar is the third speaker. He builds his case for the formula by resorting to the logic of human reason which Job respected and mastered. Like a debater refuting the case of an opponent, Zophar quotes Job's own words and turns them against him:
For you have said,
"My doctrine is pure,
And I am clean in your eyes."
But oh, that God would speak,
And open His lips against you,
That He would show you the secrets of wisdom!
For they would double your prudence.
Know therefore that God exacts from you
Less than your iniquity deserves.
(Job 11:4-6, emphasis mine)
Job is caught in a crossfire of condemnation. To protect their formula for faith, his three friends turn legitimate sources of support for divine revelation into tactics of terror. By appealing to the authority of experience, tradition, and reason which Job respects, they leave him no alternative but
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repentance before God or rebellion against Him. Thus, God's justice will be defended, their formula will be preserved, and they themselves will be vindicated. Meanwhile, Job's suffering deepens as he is sacrificed for the system.
When the System Replaces Faith
A vicious cycle came to an end when Job's three friends substituted their system of theology for faith itself. Once they began to create a theology with all of the answers, momentum carried them to the point where Job no longer mattered. Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar were so intent on defending their religious system that they were viciously compelled to find sin in Job's life. When Eliphaz could not identify any obvious sin, Bildad presumed that the problem was secret sin. Still without evidence, Zophar tried to get Job to plea bargain with God because he knew that his suffering is less than he deserves for his sin.
The contest continues until Eliphaz latches on to the angry words of Job and accuses him of sinning with his tongue. Later on, Bildad shifts the ground rules from searching for a specific sin in Job's life to damning his total character. In one of the most precise profiles in Scripture of the wicked person, Bildad throws out personalized barbs that can apply only to Job, involving the loss of his family, fame, and fortune. Through clenched teeth, Bildad stabs a finger in Job's direction and cuts him to the quick with his indictment:
The light of the wicked indeed goes out . . . .
And this is the place of him who does not know God.
(Job 18:5 and 21)
Desperation has taken over. Even Eliphaz loses his suave and fatherly diplomacy when he shouts, in paraphrase:
So what if you are innocent?
Is it any pleasure to the Almighty
that you are righteous?
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With one last dig, Eliphaz then accuses Job of being guilty of the sins of the rich:
. . . taking pledges from a brother without reason,
. . . stripping the naked of their clothing,
. . . refusing water to the weary,
. . . withholding bread from the hungry,
. . . sending widows away empty, and
. . . crushing the strength of the fatherless
(Job 22:6-9)
Point for point, Job refutes these charges and, in fact, shows how he went the extra mile in each case. Nothing is left to attack. In utter desperation, Bildad admits their failure when he sniffs at Job:
How much less man, who is a maggot,
And a son of man, who is a worm?
(Job 25:6)
There is no mistaking the object of his invective. Bildad closes the conversation by consigning Job to the rank of a worm in the dust or a maggot grubbing in a rotting corpse. Think of it. Under the pretense of defending the character of God, Job had fallen in the eyes of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar from a friend to be comforted, to a sinner to be censured, to a wicked person to be damned, and finally to a worm to be trampled. It all began when faith was reduced to a formula.
A Victim of the System
The parallel between the suffering of Job and Jesus at the hands of religious leaders is astounding. Jesus' opposition came from Pharisees who reduced faith to a formula that equated righteousness with ritual. Around that formula, the Pharisees developed an institutionalized system of hundreds of petty rules for righteousness. Somewhere under the weight of those rules faith got lost. Therefore, when Jesus
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came preaching faith in God as the essence of spirituality, the Pharisees took the same tactic as Job's friends, attacking Jesus under the pretense of defending the character of God.
Note the similarity of vicious cycles. When the Pharisees realized that Jesus' message threatened their power and position, they resorted to a personalized attack — scoffing at His ancestry, denying His legitimacy, implying His madness, and aligning Him with Beelzebub. Nothing worked. Jesus stood firm in His message and pure in His character. Enraged by their failure to accuse Him, the Pharisees plotted His death — to stomp Him out like a worm or a maggot.
Philippians reminds us that Jesus, the Son of God, relinquished His glory to be born a man, ministered as a servant, suffered the loss of reputation, and died as a criminal. With Him as well as with Job, it all began when faith was reduced to a formula, the formula was raised to a system, and the system replaced the value of a person, even one in the midst of suffering.
For those who suffer, the experience of Jesus and Job is a reminder that religion can be cruel as well as comforting. Religious formulas and systems can add to our pain if they become substitutes for faith itself. In such instances, we must tenaciously hold on to our faith in God at all costs. He is not threatened by our anguished cries or our troubled thoughts. Even though He may not answer immediately, He will not abandon us. Best of all, God will never deny our dignity as persons even when we feel as if we are on an ashheap. Job and Jesus assure us that He hurts with us, hears us, and will heal us, not always as we may wish, but always with new faith that gives us hope.
